|"Let us do some sex at now."|
1) An article I
2) The sudden realization that if sexbots were as good as predicting what I liked, sex-wise, as Pandora internet radio is, music-wise--well, sign me the fuck up.
However, I'm not saying that you should rush to locate the nearest robot and start humping away. No, there are a few very important caveats. To wit:
1. I'm talking about robots in the future. WAY, WAY, WAY in the future. Like in 2050, the year experts predict sexbots will become indistinguishable from humans. (Although, by 2050, the only thing I'll be wanting my sexbot to do is bring me my slippers and juice.) Unfortunately sexbots of 2011 are quite distinguishable from humans.
|The happy couple|
2. Expense. $7000--a sum of cash that's difficult to hide, even using the kind of highly developed "black budget" I've adopted in my own household finances. And don't be trying to save money on this kind of thing. Reader Belinda brought up the enchantingly disturbing possibility of cheaper knockoffs that would exhibit only a passing knowledge of human sexual desires. "You liiiiike arm," your cheapo doll would squeak in an unpleasant voice, using the twisted syntax of dollar store product instructions, as it poked your arm painfully. "Time to put sex on me!" Then its plastic eye would fall out.
3. Various and sundry concerns brought up by beloved In Bed With Married Women readers (among them dear Ed, Tricia, Annah, Candycan and The Barreness) including lack of relationship drama, loss of human interaction, and fear of becoming so smitten by robot love that you'd give up on flawed humans entirely. Not to mention embarrassing tech support calls. ("Well, the problems started when Roxxxy and I decided to get a can of peas involved...")
I will leave you today with a link to this wonderfully cheeky Cracked.com article, The First Talking Robot: A (Terrified) User's Review, in which Daniel O'Brien spends an evening with Roxxy. Is it a date? Household appliance review? You decide...
*Yes, this a rerun, okay? I would offer you an excuse but I can't really think of one.